Not Really, No
by hellsky
Summary: (Not Really, No & Home is for the Heartfelt) "Draco Malfoy wasn't known for his good temper. Quite the opposite, really. Draco was what you might call a reactor. Blowing up at the smallest and tiniest of details gone wrong. Things have to go his way. No objections. Enter Harry Potter."
1. Not Really, No

Draco Malfoy wasn't known for his good temper. Quite the opposite, really. Draco was what you might call a reactor. Blowing up at the smallest and tiniest of details gone wrong. Things have to go his way. No objections.

Enter Harry Potter. The infuriatingly hot, black-haired, green-eyed, golden boy. He was a bit of a celebrity, really. Draco supposes that adds to his charm. But of course, Draco wouldn't know, would he? He couldn't speak two words to the bispeckled boy who—Draco was sure—was one hundred percent straight. And even if he wasn't, would Draco even really have a chance? How could he compare to Cho Chang—Harry's girlfriend of two years.

Draco isn't even supposed to feel this way about males. His blood-line would be horrified with the knowledge that a Malfoy was homosexual.

Naturally, he hasn't told anyone about these feelings. Well, anyone but Pansy Parkinson, his best friend. Pansy was the nicest person Draco had ever met. He supposed if he had the balls to talk to Harry, maybe he could overtake the position, but that didn't seem likely anytime soon.

Draco supposed that Pansy wasn't the nicest to everyone else. She knew Draco was fragile—as was she—and felt the instinct to snap at anyone that crossed their path. Draco steered clear of Harry and Cho for this reason among many others.

Pansy had told him earlier that people thought they were dating and Draco laughed, saying that was hilarious if they knew just how very gay he was.

Quidditch was easily the best part of school. Expecially when Gryffindor played against Slytherin. As the keeper, Draco could easily stare at Harry and pass it as watching for the quaffle. He was an excellent keeper so no one could complain. Harry somehow made him even more foucused. Flint had asked him to play seeker, but he had hurriedly declined; there was no way he would be able to be in such close proximity to Harry without flubbing up.

Most days consisted of eating, lessons, body care, and watching Harry from out of the corners of his grey eyes. This is routine for Draco. This is average for Draco. This is home for Draco.

The day didn't feel different than any other. Draco had woken up, yawned, and stumbled out of bed at an early hour with the knowledge that today consisted of double Potions with the Gyffindors. Cho Chang would not be present.

Draco throws on his robes and snatches his bag after a quick shower, and hurries out of the dormitory. He doesn't want to be alone with any of the others ever—and today is certainly no exception. He pushes open the door and sprints up the stairs to the common room, across it, and down the set diagonal to the set he'd prior climbed up. His pale fist makes contact with the dark oaken door, impaitently. Didn't she remember what day it was?

The door swings open with a long creak after loud, protestant swearing can be heard from inside.

"Draco, I swear to Merlin. . ." Pansy's dark bob is unruly with the contrary waves she fights a fierce battle with every morning. She rests her palm against her forehead and cobalt eyes, "every damn morning you get here earli—"

"Absolutely incorrect," Draco interrupts the shorter girl, a shit-eating grin spreading across his thin lips, "yesterday was a Sunday, and I didn't wake you up. I was in the common room writing that essay for Flitwick. And, I think you'll be most pleased I've reminded you that today is going to be an excellent day." He holds up a long nimble didget every time Pansy makes to part her lips.

The dark-haired girl roughly shoves the hand from her face, "Oh sod off, Draco, it's bearly the ass-crack of fucking dawn! Potter won't even be up yet! Get a grip, mate!" Pansy is screaming in the pale boy's face, but he knows from experience—extensive experience—that she isn't mad at him. Or at least, she won't be later.

"Jesus Christ," a blonde girl inside Pansy's dorm swears with her thick Australian accent, "shut the fucking door, Parkinson!" Pansy pats Draco's cheek and shuts the door in his face.

A few hours post, Pansy and Draco are walking to breakfast. Pansy is talking a-mile-a-minute—and Draco is letting her. Part of their mutual respect comes from one-sided conversations, and they're both fine with that. Draco would usually be listening more, or doing the one-sided chatter—but his mind is too full of Harry. His lovely dark messy hair, his leafy green eyes, round glasses reflecting light from the candelabras overhead. . . .

"Draco," fingers are snapping inches away from his eyes, "you can't zone out whilst walking down the bloody corridor, besides, we're here." Pansy pushes open the great heavy doors to the Great Hall, and tugs Draco in after her.

Draco's grey eyes are already canvassing the room, picking out a tousled head of raven hair. . . Ah! There. Draco's face falls, of course with Cho Chang.

Pansy can tell what Draco is upset about without even tracing his gaze, "Don't sweat it, Double Potions, remember? No Ravenclaws." She leads the pale boy over to some empty seats at the Slytherin table, and pulls platters of bacon and kippers toward the pair. Draco sits in silence, running over the calculations of exactly how many minutes it would be until potions, and where he'd have to set up his caldron so he'd have a good view of Harry without the longing gazes and staring being acknowledged. Harry would most likely partner up with Ron Weasley, and they usually sat near the front of the room. Somewhere in the back would be good, no one would notice. . . .

Pansy seemed to have given up on yelling at him to catch his attention, and throws a heaping portion of oatmeal and piles sausage onto Draco's gleaming golden plate. He picks up a utensil and spoons some oatmeal into his mouth. The metal is cold and firm against his tongue contrasting with the warm sugary oatmeal it holds.

By the time Professor Flitwick finally finished assigning their homework for the night, Draco's legs were itching to sprint from the stuffy classroom and down to the chill, dank dungeons where Potions was taught by his favorite teacher, Professor Snape. Snape seemed to be rather fond of Draco for reasons he didn't quite understand—but was more than willing to accept. Much nicer than his birth father ever was. Snape's one flaw was the fact he despised Harry Potter with unfathomable wrath. Draco supposed Snape wouldn't like him as much if he knew he was gay for the student he hated the most.

The bell rang throughout the halls and Draco leaped from his seat, threw the leather strap of his messenger bag over his shoulder, and grabbed Pansy's wrist as he dashed out the door into the crowded hallways. Pansy's robes billow out behind her as she stumbles after him knowing persistence is futile in this situation. Draco slowed to a brisk pace as they pass the Transfiguration class where Draco knows Harry is. He risks a glance in as they pass—he's not in there, Draco's heart cinches uncomfortably.

Pansy notices Draco's grip on her wrist has fallen slack and grips his upper arm to pull him past, "You're making a scene staring like some you've ingested some dingy love potion," The female's words seem to pull Draco awake and aware; he shakes his head, "I might as well have." Pansy groans and gives the blond-haired boy a hefty shove foreword.

"Amortentia is perhaps not the wisest task for some of you daft-brained imbeciles to attempt to brew, but the course requires of it," Professor Snape's curtain of greasy dark hair swings as he turns to face the chalk board and raps it sharply with his wand. Where the tip of the wand touched, white scrawl blooms and blossoms out across the board's black surface. "You will have all but ten minutes of the remainder of the class. Begin!" Draco peers up from his text book to ogle Harry and—of course—Ron Weasley who look very panic-stricken.

"This shouldn't be too hard," Pansy mumbles, her blue eyes skimming the list of ingredients and directions. She glances up at the script on the board and back down at the printed text and shuts her book and pushes it into her bag on the floor beside her.

Draco has seen Snape brew this before and noticed he didn't use the book, but seemed to pull up his own set of directions that seemed to produce a much better reaction. The hook-nosed professor had always told him that the daft students that were failing relied heavily on the book for instruction. Pansy remembers this before he does—it seems—and the blond boy follows suit.

Quite a while later, Pansy and Draco stand proudly behind their cauldron which had a gleaming mother-of-pearl sheen and spiraling steam looping up from it. Draco practically swooning from the scent of Harry emanating from within. Professor Snape strides across the room to the very back and stops in front of the two Slytherins, his face bearing what resembled a thin smile for a fraction of a second before it snapped back to its usual firm, stationary line so quickly Draco thought he might've imagined it. "Excellent job," he drawls, "fifty points to Mr. Malfoy, and another fifty to Miss. Parkinson, I think is deserved." Beneath the table, Pansy squeezes Draco's hand in triumph. Draco sneaks a glance up to the front of the room and is delighted to see Harry faintly smiling the two of them. Draco's grip on Pansy's hand increases sharply. Ron elbows Harry sharply in the ribs and his smile falls.

As the class files out, most of them darkly mumbling curses mainly directed at Snape, Pansy squeezes the two vials of potion she had managed to collect unnoticed in her robes.

Lunch has arrived and Draco's stomach feels bubbly and queasy at the same time. Harry Potter smiled at him. "My god, Draco. Get a grip." Pansy mutters, taking a bite of her sandwich. but Draco cant get a grip. He's too far gone already.

It's the next week. Draco is in the—thankfully empty—boy's toilets splashing his face with water. He takes a deep, labored breath and grips the sides of the sink, his knuckles turning white with strain. His white-blond hair is a mess, he's a mess. What was he thinking doing something like this?! he can still see his father's neat slanted scrawl on the parchment. . .

Dear Draco,

Your mother urges me to not reply at all if I was to respond in this manner, but I do not agree with her in the slightest. You are a Malfoy. You are carrying on our name. You do not like males. You will not like males. You are not homosexual. You will not be allowed in this house again until you've quelled these unwelcome and highly untrue thoughts.

Your father,

Lucius Malfoy

It was a short letter, but by far the most painful one he's ever received.

Suddenly the door opens and the worst-possible person to walk in walks in. Harry Potter.

Draco freezes instantly. Harry hasn't seen him yet. There's still time to get out. As he's pondering just what on earth he's to do, Harry notices him.

"Merlin, Draco, are you alright?" Harry's by his side in an instant and Draco can't fathom why he cares or how he knows his name.

"Y-yes," no matter his protest, the word sticks and catches in his throat.

Harry raises a dark brow and tilts his lips up in a half-smile, "Now, I know that's not true." Harry's hand is on his shoulder. Harry's hand is on his shoulder. Harry's hand is on his shoulder. "What's wrong? Please tell me, I reckon you'll feel loads better if you let it out." The green-eyed boy's words are soft and laced with concern. It reminds Draco of when his mother talked about a girl that was at school a few years lower than her. Lily Evans. Draco knew Lily had been Harry's mum and from all Narcissa told him about her, his heart went out to Harry even more than it already was.

Maybe it would help. What was Pansy always trying to get him to do? Man up and tell him.

"I d-decided to c-come out t-to my father and unless I 'q-quell the unwelcome thoughts' he'll d-disown me," Draco doesn't know where to start, so he just blurts it. Harry looked mildly surprised and still a bit concerned, but he's smiling now.

"Someone that you came out for?" Harry's hand has traveled from his shoulder to his hand. it's cold to the touch. Draco's grey eyes widen in shock. He knows. How does he know? "Don't be thick, Draco, I see how you look at me." Harry's green eyes are bright and large, looking right into his own.

"H-how. . . ." Draco starts, displeased to find that he's still stumbling over his words.

"You're not as nonchalant as you think you are, Malfoy." Harry smirks gently.

That was when Harry Potter—the one-hundred percent straight golden-boy dating Cho Chang—leaned toward him, cupped his face, and kissed him on the lips. Draco is falling, falling, falling. Somehow he's moving his lips against Harry's and he can feel the soft tufts of raven hair beneath his finger. When did he put his hands in Harry's hair?

They break apart, breathless. Draco's lips are swollen and eyes blown wide, "W-what about C-Cho?"

Harry looks amused, "What about Cho?"

"Aren't y-you dating h-her?" Draco is beyond confused. The carefully constructed pillars of what he thought his life was are rapidly crumbling apart.

"I was," Harry carefully intertwines their fingers together with a smile, "but then I realized that there's this hot guy from Slytherin who's always looking at me with such obvious attraction—"

"Oh, shut up." Draco blushes, not even realizing he's making causal conversation with the boy he's been pining after for years.

"—and I was like, damn what the hell am I doing dating a girl? So I told Cho that I was gay and she was like, oh yeah so am I. So it turns out she's lesbian and we were just both using each other as a cover for the closet."

"So you're not straight?" Draco looks up into Harry's mesmerizing green orbs.

"Not really, no."

This time it's Draco leaning forward to initiate the kiss.


	2. Home is for the Heartfelt

Draco Malfoy didn't want to leave Hogwarts for Christmas. In fact, he had no intention to in the first place. He was completely content with spending the holiday with Pansy and Harry. Harry was staying, Ron had left to spend the holiday with his rather extensive family, Hermione had something of the same idea. She-of course-was spending the holiday with her own family rather than Ron's. Pansy never goes home. She hates her father and stepmother with a wrath so fiery it could burn down the entire forbidden forest and still have energy left over.

So, the three were set. They were excited and ready. It was going to be great. And it very well might have been if not for the midnight hued owl that is presently swooping in through the Great Hall. If not for the the letter it bears.

The owl swoops in gracefully, not making a sound. It lands spectacularly in front of the tea and marmalade. Draco frowns. He doesn't recognize the owl, but it has a formal air to it in the way it holds itself and folds its wings neatly behind itself that makes Draco wonder if it could be from his father.

"It's not for me," Pansy gives the owl a shove toward Draco as it hops hesitantly toward her. The owl hoots in irritation and ruffles its feathers as it turns its little body to face Draco and Harry.

"Hullo there," Harry says reaching out a finger to nuzzle the owl beneath its beak. It closes its big brown eyes and shakes its leg in Draco's direction. "I think she wants you to take the letter, Draco." Harry tells him and gives the owl another rub.

Draco hesitates for a second, then reaches out and takes hold of the twine securing the parchment scroll to its leg. He unfurls it and stares at the dried ink staining the curling surface.

Dear Son,

The letter your father sent you earlier this year was not sent under my knowledge. I did not know of its existence myself until this very day when I asked your father when you would be arriving to spend the holiday with us. He replied that you would not be coming and I asked him why ever not. His response was highly immature and I will not even bother attempting to convey it to you now. Allow me to make something clear to you, Draco. You are my son and I love you dearly. Your father loves you as well, but is having trouble accepting your newfound sexual orientation. Please feel welcome to come back for the holidays. You are welcome here, it is your home. Of course, you may stay at school if you wish. Have a lovely holiday, dear.

Love,

Mum

Draco stares at the last letter his mother wrote on the parchment and bites his tongue. He will not be returning home for Christmas. Not today, not ever. It isn't his real home, anyway. Home is where the heart is and his heart is here. Where his friends are. He closes his eyes and crumples the parchment between his fingers.

"Draco, are you alright?" Pansy's voice is laced heavily with concern and a hand settles itself on his thigh. He opens his eyes to see two other sets looking at him. One set green, and the other a periwinkle blue. Both gazing into his own; worry shining from the edges.

Draco can't find the right words, so he doesn't use any at all. He sits in silence, letting their gazes wash over him. Harry is prying the parchment from his boyfriend's cold fingers with determination to discover what has made him this way so suddenly.

"What's it say?" Pansy demands, leaning over the table and craning her neck to read Narcissa Malfoy's looped penmanship once the black haired boy has succeeded. Draco doesn't make any further form of protest to their actions and sits unmoving, staring at the pale palms of his hands. Why isn't he happy his mother is welcoming him back home with welcome arms? His father, he supposes. Lucius is a proud man-not one to accept things easily as Draco very well knows-and Draco wants his approval. He wants to be something that his father can look at and be proud of. It's not like that'll happen before hell freezes over.

Harry is looking at him. Staring at him. Draco can feel his sharp, piercing green irises burning into the side of his head, demanding attention. Impossible to be ignored. He gives in and looks at him.

"You can go home if you want, I won't stop you." His voice is quiet and understanding. Draco shakes his head and takes the parchment back from Harry.

"I don't want to go home," Draco stands up and shoves the letter into his bag as he leaves the Great Hall in large strides. He doesn't look behind himself to see if Harry or Pansy is following him-he just walks faster. He doesn't know where he's headed but he continues on walking up staircases, through doors, and down corridors.

The blond haired boy slows to a trudge, the soles of his trainers scuffing and sliding across the smooth waxed marble flooring as he looks up to where the ceiling should have been. In its place is a lovely expanse of open sky, stretching as far as the human eye can see in all directions. Draco had always loved that about Hogwarts. The fact that it was the complete embodiment of the secluded castle in the middle of nowhere cliche. Now that he thought about it, where else would it be? The area had to be open and secluded-nowdays, not many places were.

Draco takes the letter from his bag and sets it on the floor, sitting down himself, and smoothing the crumpled parchment out. His mother at least deserves an explanation as to why her only son will not be spending Christmas with his family. His bastard of a father probably doesn't give a damn as to where he is as long as he isn't near Lucius to 'infect' him with homosexuality. Draco grimaces and finds a scroll of parchment, a bottle of ink, and eagle's feather quill in his bag. His nimble digits unthread the lid and dip the nub of the quill into the ink before pressing the nub to the parchment and forming a letter:

Mother,

Thank you for writing to me and not taking the route of dear old father by pretending that I do not exist. Thank you for accepting my sexuality and not making a huge deal out of something that, in reality, is quite normal nowadays. I appreciate those two things more than you will ever know. As for coming home for the holidays, I am sorry to inform you that I will be staying at school. I do not wish to see father, and I do believe that he is desirous that we do not come into contact either. I will write to you again soon and will be sure to owl you your present on the eve of the holiday.

Much love,

Draco

The grey eyed boy brushes the end of the eagle's feather against his lips and reads over his writing once more. It's short, but it's in the way of getting to the point and Draco knows his mother will appreciate that he didn't make a large showcasing of it.

As he packs away the materials back into his bag, Draco stands up and stretches-looking back up at the open sky. He briefly wonders what happens when it rains, but the thought is quickly diminished as Draco remembers that this is a magical school for Merlin's sake. What on earth was he thinking.

The room has gotten to a point where it is so quiet that a pin could drop, and it would be heard. Draco wonders where all the birds went. Their persistent chirping was obviously absent and it sent chills down Draco's spine. He shivers and walks from the room.

Draco's feet patter as he walks back down the corridors, doors, and staircases but doesn't head for the Great Hall. Clutching his leather bag strap, the blond haired boy makes his way to the Owlery. A doleful hoot can be heard as he pushes open the Owlery door and makes his way inside, eyes scanning the rafters for an owl that isn't sleeping. Finding an acceptable candidate, Draco coaxes the tawny owl down from it's high-risen perch.

Draco watches as the owl flies off into the setting sun. It's oddly picturesque, Draco thinks. He braces his hands against the chilly brickwork, picking at the slightly crumbling rim with the pad of his finger. Draco looks back up to where the owl had been flying, and sees that it has flown out of sight. He turns on his heel and leaves the Owlery.

The halls are beautifully decorated for the holidays and Draco finds himself having to stop for a moment to appreciate the time that Hagrid had spent making it perfect. Somehow, the fact that Hagrid didn't use magic for everyday tasks and grueling work was memorable, though Draco knew that Hagrid couldn't use magic even if he wanted to.

Draco frowns as he remembers this. Hagrid couldn't have deserved to be expelled from Hogwarts, what had he done that was so bad? Perhaps Harry knew. They were friends, weren't they? Harry. Draco's thoughts turn back to Harry and Pansy. He left them in the Great Hall at least an hour ago. Had they been looking for him? There was no question that they had been. Pansy was intimidatingly overprotective, and Harry was no different. They'd put on a show of being incredibly pissed off when he finally showed up, but he knew both of them well enough to realize that they wouldn't really be mad at him. Draco smiles crookedly at the thought. Love really was something.

He shakes himself out from his thoughts and moves on down the corridor, the chance that they're still in the Great Hall is slim to none-but Draco deems it as a good of a place to start as any. Needless to say, Pansy and Harry weren't in the Great Hall when Draco entered. In fact, no one was. Draco felt a shiver ghost down his spine and he shivers in discomfort. He moves quickly from the large, open, empty room and pushes through the heavy doors with a flourish.

Where to next? The library, perhaps? Draco isn't sure where to begin looking for the people who are looking for him. Maybe he just let them find him, that would be much easier.

Draco decides that this is a good of a plan as any, and heads for the Slytherin Common Room.

"Well, where the fuck do you propose we search for him, then?!" Pansy is exasperated. She has been searching the entire goddamn castle for Draco-and with Harry Potter of all people, god. Pansy doesn't think anyone in the entire universe could be as irritating as an anxious Harry Potter.

Potter is running his hands back through his ever-present mess of raven hair and his green eyes are flashing dangerously-he's just as close to the end of his rope as Pansy is to her's. "I don't know, ok? We've looked through every corner of this damn castle and I! Just! Don't! Fucking! Know!" He's chewing furiously on his chapped lower lip and Pansy feels like her head is about to explode.

"Alright! We've come to the wonderful consensus that neither of us know where your boyfriend is! Whop-de-fucking-do!" She throws her hands up above her head and starts walking toward the Slytherin Common Room at a rather fast pace. She knows Potter will most likely follow her, but Pansy doesn't care to be bothered with Potter at this moment. Pansy's worried about Draco. He's her best friend and she has every right to be. She has no idea where in this gigantic castle where the hell he is. He could've pitched himself off the highest peak of the Astronomy Tower and she wouldn't even know until the next morning!

She's arrived at the entrance and faces the south wall-speaking the password silently so Potter won't hear it. The wall slides open and Pansy strides through, her dark robes billowing out behind her. As the sole of her shoe hits the smoothed dark wood, she imagines the wood to be Potter's face and brings her foot down heavily once more upon it.

Pansy turns around and prepares herself to come face-to-face with Potter, but is confused but pleased to not find him anywhere in sight.

"Pansy," someone's voice starts, but doesn't have time to finish, for from the second the speaker opened his mouth-Pansy's wand was out and so was the speaker's ankle. It's Draco. Of course, it's Draco. Who else would it be? No one talks to her. Pansy doesn't waste time confronting the still upside down Draco Malfoy.

"You have five seconds to tell me where the bloody hell you were," her voice is tight and strained with anxiety and ferocity coming off her in waves.

Draco doesn't seem startled by the spellwork, in fact it seems as though he was expecting it. "I found a quiet place to write back my mum," as Draco starts Pansy's face noticeably softens, "and I sent it out with one of the school's owls."

Pansy waits for Draco to continue-but when it seems quite clear that he has finished speaking, Pansy lets him down with a wave of her wand and a mumbled apology directed to the floorboards.

Draco falls onto a dark green armchair with a small thump and Pansy burrows her hands into the folds of her robes.

"I'm sorry for worrying you." Draco's voice is soft and quiet, "I just wanted some space and time to be alone."

Pansy bobs her dark-haired head, a whisper of a smile upturning the corners of her lips, "I understand." It's an unspoken agreement-the two have so many they've lost count at this point. They were going to be fine.

"By the way, Draco," Pansy's lips pulled back into a full-fledged smirk as Draco's blond head turns toward her, "your boyfriend's awfully worried about you." Draco groans and puts his head in his hands.

"Shit."

Actions


End file.
